


Of Chrome and Stars

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Things That Never Happened in TFATF Verse [2]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Caprica (TV), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Battlestar Galactica Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, Dark, F/M, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: Fast Five meets Battlestar Galactica





	Of Chrome and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Property of Universal, Justin Lin, Rob Cohen, and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.
> 
> A/N: Inspired by the rich culture briefly explored on Caprica. It's so easy to imagine Sam Adama as a stand-in for Papa Toretto. Plus, I think the Family would've given the Cylons a good fight during seasons 1 and 2 of BSG. 
> 
> A/N 2: Also inspired by the Model Seven mystery/plothole in BSG continuity. 
> 
> A/N 3: An article about the significance of[Sam Adama's tattoos](https://www.facebook.com/notes/caprica/interested-in-the-meaning-of-sam-adamas-tattoos-our-friends-at-show-patrol-have-/309547004036/).
> 
>  
> 
> .

Six hours came and went like the fall of dominoes. The collapse of worlds was marked by dust plumes, fanning out with large snarling grey fingers to the sky, burning flesh with each breath and within the span of a blink. They dared not look back at each flash striking over the surface.

Dom blinked his eyes furiously, wiping at the gutter of his cheeks with his wrists. Brian flipped the thruster switches after giving him a brief glance. "The sulphur, right?" Brian stated plainly, knowing that there weren't enough words to capture the sheer _what the frak_ that they were leaving behind on first Caprica, now Tauron.

Keeping his eyes ahead, Dom muttered, "Yeah, I'm not a real fan of dust. Never got back to the old country often cuz of it. Despite the bullshit said about it, Tauron does--" he paused as he chewed on the horrific slurry of the past and present tenses, "-- _did_ have beautiful flowers."Dom nodded once, triggering Brian to accelerate their ascent.

Now both could pretend that the gravitational shift created the nauseating roll in their stomachs and not the shuttering recoil from explosions at their tail.

Brian clutched the FTL spool while keeping a silent synchronized count with Dom, dipping his chin as they broke the edge of the atmosphere to face a wall of ships bearing down on them. "There have to be flowers somewhere else, Dom. Since we have cubits and fuel, we might as well start looking." He slowed the ship to the designated mark and resumed the count for the herd's departure.

Dom hovered the comm receiver close to his mouth, his thumb resting beside the transmitter until the count reached zero. Blinking back the last stubborn film of moisture, Dom offered Brian a half-cocked grin. "You jump us around _that--_ " a wall of nightmare fuel that no Colonial history lesson could've illustrated properly.  "--and not into the sun, then we'll pick enough daisies to make a chain from here to the Thirteenth Colony." The first wave launched at them.

Brian opened up the big battery of gun's on the starboard ports and settled in for the recoil from Giselle, Han, Tej, and Rome lighting the enemy fighters up. "It's a deal, but no holding out on me like the last couple of times I gave you what you wanted." Brian snorted. "You still owe me for the bridge...and the desert...and after we liberated those Chargers."

Dom watched the first hooked up pair--a sublight and a delivery freighter with an FTL--make the jump simultaneously. After a beat of relief, he went back to Brian's growing to do list for him. "I get it, O'Conner, but, seriously, a Porsche isn't good enough anymore? I'll pay my tab, and to satisfaction, later. Just keep your eyes on that jam-up and we'll think of ways to stroke your ego later."

For a few seconds, they could laugh like they weren't staring down a battalion of Cylon fighters and the carnage of Colonial vessels laid to waste. Dom continued on, "What I wanted, you wanted--needed--it's all the same thing now, right?"Licking his lips, Dom willed his fingers to be steady in opposition to the rabbit flutter in his chest. "This remind you of anything?"

Like once upon a time being surrounded on all sides by the cops, the Colonials, and Braga's squad until Brian blew the NOS. "South Cap City," they answered together, then burst into inappropriate laughter.

"The first two waves are gone." Giselle declared from below the DRADIS. "And thirty seconds until the rest of the Cylons are on top of us."

Six hours reduced to a window of thirty seconds. Dom thumbed the comm on, "Ride out!", he ordered, then watched as the single ships and last sets of twofers winked out of the blackness like an old Gemonese street trick.

He offered Brian a nod when it was just them with a wall of Cylons in front of them and a smoldering rock behind them. Brian's grin was the only reassuring sign that Dom could count on. "Punch it and we'll square up later."

* * *

They started the day with a plan to clear out the vaults in the Rio Janus Metro PD station as a final strike against Reyes and his drug empire.  While standing on the bridge, Dom casually refuted Hobbs's assumption that he would find them. Just as he followed Brian to the Charger, a flash erupted over the eastern horizon, forcing them to shield their eyes as the first cloud mushroomed across the bay and beyond with a terrifying roar. 

The planet hadn't gone silent suddenly. Deafness died as soon as Brian's voice rose above the piercing hum, "I think that forty-eight hours applies to everyone now." He looked from Hobbs to Neves then finally at Dom. "Rule One is get to a Colonial Comm. But first we gotta go." Back to the warehouse and the others as planned but with the automatic course correction to not split up.

Hobbs walked towards the bridge's rail. "You're wrong, O'Conner. If you learned anything in the Academy, then you know a fireworks show like _that_ means we've probably got six tops. Even less, because it looks like the defense grid has gone bye-bye."

Neves's radio crackled with garbled calls of panic. Her relatively calm responses served as breakers for the crashing waves of the panicked. "We need to go," she delivered steelily, without offering an ounce of give, staring Dom down especially until he shifted closer to the Charger. "I don't think we have a choice about which side we're on anymore. I'd say that those explosions made the choice for us." She said as a trio of grey mushroom clouds sprouted up at two, four, and six o'clock.

"That, I agree with, Woman." But Hobbs didn't turn away from the clouds. "All of us have people somewhere, and even if I damn sure don't like you two chuckle-heads, I can recognize that I need you. Just as much as you need us." Another flash wavered from the northeast. "It's official: the Cylons have come back to put a boot up our asses and just served humanity a slice of shit pie." 

Dom opened the back door to the Charger, standing by expectantly. "If this is your offer of a pardon, then we accept. If not, then I'll give you until the end of the ride to come to terms with the new deal." He didn't wait long for Hobbs and Neves to get into the backseat.

The deal involved picking up Hobbs's baby girl and his sister in exchange for intel on a few supply caches that were already worth more than their tanker of cubits.

At the warehouse, the plan scrambled to a reset rendezvous point away from the heart of the slums and far from Caprica. Most gave up on the gods a long time ago; others just assumed they were sleeping. Looking around the warehouse at almost every person Dom held close to heart, he trusted that maybe the Lords of Kobol had woken up long enough to not make this a complete frakked up shitshow. 

The gods were on _their_ side despite the obvious disaster. Each step away from Caprica was balanced by another piece falling into place: Brian skidding to a halt in front of Vince’s former block in the middle of a Colonial favela as a crowd had gathered to watch the toxic clouds extravasate from islands pregnant with skyscrapers and bridges. Dom used to give frak-all about the story of his name day when his parents asked for patronage of a Lord of Kobol to guide him. Reluctance to believe had been born out of the deaths of his mother, then his father, and the years languishing in a Colonial pen. But he would find an altar to make his penance and reaffirm his devotion--not if-- but when they were able to keep going. His Pop always said that the Lords of Kobol blessed Dom to be a force of nature--a titan in Tauron skin, exemplified by his perfect timing to snatch up Rosa in the middle of packing up a wet and wide-eyed Nico as the windows shattered above his crib.

Brian’s honks and shouts from the street gave Dom an infusion of Hermes’s speed to get them back to base and not thinking of the impact of him yelling _Come_ in Tauronese or the stream of vehicles, bikes, and feet echoing the command in Leonese, Gemenese, Piconian, and more that grew when the engine started. All following back to the base.

The threads of fate wove a path from the warehouse to their freighter waiting in orbit, Mia standing in the docking bay as Dom and Brian, followed by Hobbs, his family, and Elena boarded. The awe evident on her face as they watched the growing herd of FTL capable ships and sublights following like sheep under the protection of a pack.

With the clock ticking down and a favela full of strangers waiting for direction, Dom watched Brian, Mia, Hobbs, and Neves circling maps for a definitive place to go while Gisele, Han and Tej made calls to connect any of their people to the plan, leaving Rome, Tego, and Rico to handle crowd control.The ebb and flow of Rome's squawking battled the grit of Tauronese grandmother who demanded answers. Who was scarier: Cylons or pissed off favela grandmothers; the jury was still out. 

"We need a place like yesterday." Dom's tone pulled the crew back into the central orbit of the nav table. "And since we're halfway outta that tunnel of six hours, I think any direction is decent as long as we can avoid the bombs." He'd seen Brian circling one map in particular and trusted the icy calm to affirm Brian's hunch.

Hobbs turned to Brian as the eleven of them crowded into the tight quarters of the retrofitted garbage freighter's control room. He folded his arms into a huge knot of corded muscle, then began with: “Since we need a shot, here’s a shot: Tauron. A little dirt-scratching town called Melpomene where the Admiralty's been kicking up the dust supposedly to hide a few things.”

The dust and dirt comments hadn’t gone unnoticed by Dom and Mia whose familial tats grew darker in the gloom of the cabin.

Brian's finger had been on Tauron which he tapped restlessly as he caught Dom's eye first before addressing Hobbs's proposal. “I've heard that one, too. That’s scuttlebutt just like any rumor that floats around after too much ambrosia and too many cubits lost.” Brian shifted his gaze around the room and to the armada of ships waiting for direction. He looked back at Dom who gave him a small nod, backing whatever decision Brian made, because Dom never wore a Colonial uniform and he didn’t know what it took to make two completely different types of soldiers like O'Conner and Hobbs. But he knew Brian wouldn't put anything before family, and every person around the nav station was family.

So Brian walked over to Tej and started dialing in coordinates. “Guess this is as good a time as any to find out if there’s some prayers yet to be answered. Let’s hope the Admiralty learned something from the first time the Cylons kicked our asses and saved a few tricks for later.”

After that, they took a vote but left the final call to Dom and Brian to split the herd or go together and stake the gamble to either try together or die together. Eleven nods were given before the radio declared Tauron was the way.

Their little freighter and herd of light hoppers and sublights flew over a desolate stretch of land on the last lit corner of Tauron, the sun setting as the blue body of Eris watched as they prepared to touch Colonial ground for the last time. A patch of orange flowers greeted them beyond the gate. There are flowers on Tauron after all.They flew over the flimsy chain-linked fence that ensnared a prop town and headed for the air field and rows of buildings too large to be anything other than manufacturing installations. The word printed on the doors of the largest bunker— _Cornucopia_ —whispered promises of what they would find inside.

They scattered to scavenge for anything that would make them sky-worthy.  Raptors and Vipers in various stages of design and repair waited for them inside, enough to give them a chance once they found enough bodies to fly them. They were the first signs of hope until Rome and Han opened the floor to find a titan and a crop of demi-ships that fortified the threads of hope into a golden fleece of survival. They walked between the rows, reading the names of the sleeping giants: Aurora, Cerberus, Juno, Minerva, Hercules, Parnassus, Augustus, Furia, Esperanza, Babylon, Hippolyta, and, lastly, the Angeles stood as a bastard battlestar behemoth that would be the shepherd to the flock.

"I want that one." Tej whistled in appreciation.

Rome bumped his shoulder. "If you can see over the dash, then I think you'll be good, bruh."

"We can worry about dibs after we get her off the ground." Brian laughed then, just as tanked up on excitement as Rome and Tej.

As they fed the small ships into the bellies of the demis like offerings on an altar, Mia flipped the switch on the beacon piggybacked on the Colonial police scanner frequencies to anyone still listening that a chance has been found. Brian put Dom and Hobbs and the rest of their skeleton crew through the quick and dirty of flying a battlestar.

When the clock showed one hour remained, the breaths became deeper, the looks toward the hazy horizon longer, and dirt beneath their feet more fragile. As the Sacred Scrolls prophesied: from the stars they came and to the stars they would return.

* * *

Now, the Colonies were gone and they were following the breadcrumbs of the spear tip of humanity.

Rome offering up a brief reality check released the tension that hadn't cracked since jumping past the Cylons. “We’ve just gone from fugitives to being told we’re the shepherds of the last of mankind in less than six hours…” The interpretation of prophecy had been the meat of the arguments during Rome's turn as the impromptu hospitality coordinator.

Han shrugged,“ So, beer then?” He leaned against Gisele with expert exertion of balance and counterbalance. Han and Gisele had remained as steady as Gisele's trigger finger until the last ship jumped away. Now they could let their tension diffuse through their skin as they sagged together until the tension bled back to calm.

"I'm...down for that." Rome considered thoughtfully. "Just to stay in the good graces, let's offer up some thanks, then the last one to the beer has to visit the Sagittaron knitting circle." Then Rome’s prayer rang through the comms across the ships as a declaration of their will to continue. “So say we all!” He finished to a rumble stirring through the Angeles's belly as their new crew answered the call.

When the CIC's occupants dwindled down to the loosely woven tapestry of Dom’s family and a handful of former Colonials on the DRADIS and at the helm, Dom and Brian stepped away to explore the spaces that hadn't been taken.  Brian asked Dom, “You sure you don’t want a uniform? It gets cold out here. I doubt anyone will pull rank on you, but sleeves are probably one of the few things that we have in extra," he trailed off.

"One thing at a time, Bri." Dom lifted a brow as they surveyed the base of the magnetic docking pads across the ship’s hull. “I won’t make you any promises, because I swore off uniforms after Lompoc. But maybe I  can rig up something that doesn’t pull at the neck. The real question is whether you’re ready to go back to that life, _Achilles_?” Dom's smirk transitioning into genuine warmth as he tested out Brian’s former call sign. Finding it more appropriate than a pretty boy name like Apollo.

Brian shouldered his bag stuffed with uniforms and fatigues salvaged from storage in the Cornucopia's warehouse as they bypassed the forward weapons cache and traveled towards the mess hall and the racks. “Flying and surviving are what we were already doing. This just ups the stakes by a few thousand plus.” The gravity of their flight did nothing to shake his eternal cool. “I’m up for training some new nuggets. Having some laughs along the way. So sure.” Brian's smile teased Dom with an offer to suit up, “There's nothing to it if you know how to fly, just adjust to the yaw and prepare for a helluva lot of torque and remember that the two buttons on the right and left of the sticks should be used on the Cylons and no one else.”

Dom deliberately brushed by Brian's free arm. “If you’re offering private lessons, then I’m game.” Because the Angeles required many hands to keep her flying, and even more to protect the rest of their flock. Scents from the mess promised coffee to replenish the buzz of adrenaline that was starting to burn away. Underneath, they could almost taste the sturdy spices of Aerelon creeping down the hall as they continued walking.

“Any time,” Brian offered, grinning broadly in the face of tragedy and fatigue. “I still owe you a ten second ride and a Viper can give you more throttle than you can handle.”

“Stop sweet talking me, O’Conner and just tell me when.” Hopefully when would be before their next head to head with the Cylons. Afterwards, there would never come another day when Brian had to chase Cylons on his own without Dom flying at his six.

The hallways were too quiet without a real crew to fly her. Busy bodies passed few and far between as they finally made it to the racks, the rooms' sizes decreasing relative to their distance from the commander’s quarters. Dom followed Brian through its door as expected.

These quarters were much larger than Brian’s former commander’s rooms where Brian had been a frequent flyer for off-the-books verbal smackdowns and bleeding heart chitchats to get him to fly straight, literally.

Looking around the suite that dripped in military swag, Dom took in the eight corners appreciatively. “I didn’t take you for a space hog, but I guess putting on the uniform has its perks if you’re hoping for a little of peace and quiet at the end of the world.”

Brian dropped the duffle on the suite’s dining room table and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the flat edge between its corners, sagging under the weight of a day made eternally too long.

“I still sleep on the left if you’re wondering.” Brian said. A few bump starts ultimately led to bed hopping when they'd first met which resumed after Brain healed up from his roll with Braga.

To play games at the end of the world seemed grossly inappropriate, so Dom stalked around the comfort features designed to bring a piece of home into the stars before stepping up to Brian. The space between them had grown narrower since Brian crashed into his life again after five years, now dwindling down to fine hairs since they’d managed to survive the End together.

All they had were clues and rumors to keep them afloat. Knowing that they weren’t alone in the vastness of space kept them from spiraling, though there was no certainty that they were on the right path except for the occasional debris fields of unfortunate Colonial ships and Cyclon raiders intercepting their course.

Truth was the only currency that mattered. The vault full of cubits was meaningless as they flew fast and far away from lives that no longer existed. “Maybe we’ll find the other Colonials. Maybe not.” Dom held Brian’s eyes then slowly started to reach out until Brian met him halfway to bring their foreheads together. “My childhood priestess would be ashamed if she knew how rusty on the scrolls I was.” Dom murmured as he rested against Brian.

“I think you’re ahead of me in that area, Dom.” Brian’s childhood, from what Dom could piece together, was a bare bones Caprican existence by virtue of his mother and an absent father. Brian always stared at Dom and Mia’s tattoos without hiding the distant crystal of envy within his blue eyes. Each sweep memorizing the loops of ink and tradition tethering the Toretto Clan to their past and future.

Dom brought his hands up to finger the strong cords of Brian’s neck and brushed over his nape that was starting to rebel from its close cut. “I know we didn’t survive today just to die tomorrow. My gut tells me there’s more to come, just not what it is.”

Huffing a tired sound, Brian pressed closer. “This has happened once, Dom." But he wasn't talking about the Cylons. "Are you sure you want it to happen again? We’ve been closer before to this but always pulled back at the last second.” Brian curled his fingers into the flat ink on Dom’s neck with fingertips hungry to absorb the script. “If this is it, then I’m not holding back.” There was no time for that anymore.

“I wouldn’t want you to.” Dom guided Brian’s fingers into the last tier of his tattoo where any empty space remained in the inked history of Dom’s life. “There should be an omega here.” An omega had two points. His would start with Letty and would end with Brian.

Brian stroked the space. “The Porsche was a nice touch for a proposal. Hopefully me coming back for you on the bridge is an equal exchange.”

"I think we're square." Dom replied. He moved Brian's fingers up the mosiac of ink as he kissed Brian longer than a Cylon minute.

Brian pulled back after darting in for kisses that winked in and out of contact. “What’ve you got?” Stopping long enough to let Dom catch up and chase down his lips.

Dom drew Brian’s fingers over the script for family. “A beginning.” The kiss that followed exerted the gravitational pull of a long jump. Dom shifted Brian's fingers to the wheel in the next corner. "How I guide my life." They moved to the closed fist clutching a sword and hammer. "Strength." Then back to the empty space. "For you."

Brian stroked the empty space, imagining the omega that would cover Dom's skin.  Then he kissed the spot below Dom's ear, ghosting over the skin a promise. “My end.” Brian said.

As Dom pressed Brian harder against the table, his lips filled the spaces that Brian offered for Dom's mark. To look into Brian's eyes was to see stars and moons rising as Dom’s grin eclipsed each kiss. “Since it’s you and me at the end, then I know it's definitely not the End or an end.  We brake but we don't stop."

Their foreheads touched again as they breathed the first breaths of ease in a new world. Brian spoke against Dom's lips. "No breaks. No stops. Just a ride across the stars.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Material:
> 
> From the Scrolls of Pythia, "The Exodus":
> 
>  
> 
> _"And the wolves would guide the beleaguered flock. The first wolf, black as the shadows of Hades, would swiftly cross the land, searing the earth with fire in furrows teaming in the dust of stars long dead as it led the lost to the haven of last of the man’s number and the leader straddling the threshold of the world. The second, gold like the apples of Midas, carried flaming sword between its teeth, to cut down the abominations lurking in the shadows to consume the flock. To the mountain and the stars beyond the last of man would travel for safe passage and life anew. Only in the time of untold fallow and ruin would the wolves come from the wild to save the last of Kobol’s begotten children. In rows of three by nine._


End file.
